The light before and after most indefinitely
by so-apropos
Summary: "..you think that really this is why, when she's in front of you, you're left stumbling over compliments and questions; because you gave her a flower and she gave you a crown, because this has never been even." Companion piece to Pull the Ripcord - canon faberry moments this time as experienced from Rachel's POV - and this time less painful .


**A/N:** Thank you so so much for all the reviews and favourites on the last fic, you all had me smiling for days. :)

This is basically the same kind of thing (canon faberry moments) from Rachel's POV.

Less angst, because, well, everyone is less angsty than Quinn. (This was more difficult to write, idk if it's because it's Rachel or because I can only write soul wrenching angst or what but yeah.)

Title is from Beth/Rest by Bon Iver, and quote just over half way through is from Choke by Chuck Palahniuk.

Reviews are wonderful.

* * *

She's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen.

It's your first day of high school, and your outfit is entirely brand new never-been-worn, down to the patent leather pumps. You first see her in the corridor, classically striking and graceful; her locker is three away from yours and she's leaving just as you enter your combination. She has a lilac headband in her hair, and you don't know why you remember this.

In that first week, you discover you have English and Biology together. She rarely raises her hand, but she takes notes in abundance, lines and lines of handwriting as elegant and precise as the rest of her existence. Her voice is soft and sure at the same time, (and you think of watercolour paints, translucent and bright), and you can still hear it carrying words on Shakespeare and vertebrae. You don't know why you remember this either.

You don't really make a huge amount of friends, you know you can sometimes come across as brash and you're used to it. But, this Quinn girl and her pretty eyes and floral dresses and demure voice seems your opposite in so many ways that jealousy is inevitable.

Except those pretty eyes rarely look up and are wistful in a way that make you want to sing every sad song you know.

She joins the Cheerios, and by sophomore year your life consists of spare changes of clothes in your locker and "treasure trail" on a daily basis. It's easy to remind yourself of building character and emotions hoarded away for song writing. But it hurts and you've kind of given up on high school being anything other than painful.

Quinn is confusing in a way that keeps you awake at night. With every insult, your nerves and veins ache, yet the barely there tenderness of her voice defies any malice. Its frustration you feel more than anything else as your eyes map the pattern of stars through your window at 3am.

You've read that statistically bullies are more likely to have low self esteem. She's so pretty and wholesome and desirable and everything-that-you've-wished-to-be that it's difficult for you to understand. But your thoughts keep coming back to those sad, gentle eyes.

"You can kiss me if you want to" is more a statement of disbelief than anything. Because he's _Quinn's_. He's Quinn's but he's here with you and the idea of anybody choosing you over her is unthinkable. It's a little awkward, and in all honesty, nothing like you expected, when it happens.

But being wanted is so easy to fall in love with.

You're young and innocent, and you think having a leading man on your arm will solve all your problems. All it does is constantly remind you how naive you are. Because now Quinn is pregnant, and she's terrified, and you've only just had your first kiss and you're only 16 but you've never felt like such a child.

Her transformation from head cheerleader back into the girl in freshman year with the lilac headband and oxfords has nothing to do with clothes. There are no more vicious words, but you worry her anger dissolved to leave something too fragile to keep safe.

When you were younger your dads would tell you off for bringing home injured animals – hedgehogs, birds, anything vulnerable and needing help. Most of them died, but some you managed to save, and now Quinn looks so broken and helpless, you just want to hold her and pray she's one of the lucky ones.

Sleep becomes elusive and hours pass lying on top of your sheets, intangible thoughts escaping you. Hooking up with Puck and Jesse is easy, and you think maybe feeling wanted is your biggest weakness, but then you think, maybe it's everybody's. Either way, dreams come easier.

"I would have tortured you if the roles were reversed". You think of George Orwell and doublethink because you both believe her and don't, and you know that she feels the same.

You tell her "I'm so sorry" and you mean for everything, because it's all so unfair, and she looks at you as though she wants to apologise as well. (You realise she often looks at you like that, like she feels she doesn't deserve this, like the need to be sorry is ingrained deep within her.)

It's at regionals, when Quinn goes into labour, and you don't know her hardly well enough to be at the hospital with her. But you're anxious and aching more than you expect. You see her again 4 days after Beth is born, and she emanates loss, strikingly, and it _frightens_ you. The others in the room, her friends, they're smiling (and so is she, in a way) and you hope they're pretending too, that you're not the only one feeling sick right now.

In the fall, the red of the Cheerios uniform seems too harsh for her pale skin in a way it never has before and her smiles come too often. You can't tell if it's your perception that's changed or if something fundamental in the arrangement of her cells is different now she's had something ripped away from her. You worry about this because she's _Quinn_, and you need to (this is the most simple and honest explanation).

You desperately want her to be your friend; out of stubbornness, frustration or just something about her you're not sure. You know she doesn't hate you, yet at "hey girlfriend" she can't even keep eye contact and you can practically feel her recoiling and you just don't know what you keep doing wrong.

You're drunker than you expect. Her hazel eyes are a little difficult to focus on but, as quiet as she speaks it, "I wish I hated you" is as clear as the shaking in her voice. The room is spinning so you keep your head on her shoulder for a while.

You wake up to Mercedes accidentally turning the music volume up and your face is pressed to her neck and your fingers are resting on her collarbone and it's warm and comfortable and innocent in every sense of the word. Her pulse is slow and her eyes closed, and Quinn looks peaceful in sleep in a way she never does otherwise (but there's so much of her you don't understand and you remember nightmares of unnaturally calm lakes and monsters at the bottom). But when you move she moulds herself around you so instinctively and you don't think of nightmares anymore.

You and Finn break up. You cry a lot and it's the kind of pain you know would inspire some wonderfully heart-rending songs. When you find out he's back together with Quinn you don't think about song writing anymore.

The piano is on your left and she's taking small steps towards you. Her voice strains with the effort to keep back the tears you can see in her eyes anyway, and you marvel at how beauty and hurting can be so reciprocal. But she's talking about you and you don't understand why _this_ is when the cracks tear open but now it's an invisible deluge and she's pleading words you can't hear, words she can't say and you feel so helpless.

Your "school girl fantasy of life" is fractured as the very words leave her mouth because suddenly this feels more important than Finn and solos. You believe her when she tells you "you don't belong here", but she means you and not her and that's not how this is supposed to go. The idea of Quinn Fabray living her life out in Lima would be laughable if it weren't for her shaking fingers and her self-loathing sincerity.

Nobody knows more about the gaping void between superficial appearance and actual intentions than Quinn, so you have faith she'll know "Get it Right" was about Finn in only one, insubstantial, way.

It's Kurt's "Are you sure her nose isn't too …normal? For your face?" that makes you realise Quinn's nose is demure and classic and encompasses everything about her so precisely, in contrast to yours; unique and conspicuous. You think they're both beautiful. (She's perfect in a way that would feed your insecurity if it weren't for the way she looks at you.) She's reverent and humbled, as though she doesn't want you to change, and so it's easy not to.

You've always thought that anyone should be honoured to sing with you, and you still do. But she harmonises below you and while her voice is not technically particularly strong; it's gentle and tremulous and it makes cell walls crumble; sends rivulets down your spine, floods your fingertips. You echo "Oh so pretty" with such ease, but you think it hardly does her justice.

You're glad Finn at least knows he's incompetent enough to ask you about the corsage. She's been dreaming of prom since middle school and _god_ you just want to see her happy.

Jealousy burns quietly as you sing, but it's more like kindling than a rage, indirect and simmering and a lot like sorrow. You watch them dance and you find your eyes drifting back to the gardenia and the light green ribbon to match her eyes.

The incident in the bathroom leaves you reeling. Later that night there's a shadow on your retinas of Quinn's face as "I'm so sorry" echoed off the tiles; as though she had committed the most unspeakable sin, disbelief fading into disgust.

"You're a lot more than that" is all you're able to say because Quinn has always been special in a way that makes breathing easier but thinking more difficult, in a way you cannot fathom let alone put into words.

When Finn kisses you on stage in New York that feeling of being wanted you had missed so desperately is sated and you lose yourself in the high. You think of every old movie cliché that's playing out right now and you can't believe it's you up here and not Quinn, (you think of Audrey Hepburn and how Quinn was born to be in black and white). It's easy to kiss him back, and it begets regret even more easily.

In September, you hear rumours at school before you see her, and you pray that they aren't true. At first, when you eventually see her, you kind of like the pink hair and denim, because she looks _strong_, but this is strength from fear and anger and it makes you worry desperately.

When you ask her to come back to Glee club you feel hopeless and determined all at once. You think of her sad eyes and 'you save people by letting them save you' and you hope Quinn knows you aren't being selfish, that both of you need this.

She does come back and you make an effort to smile your brightest smile at her every time you see her in Glee. She always smiles back (amused and exasperated), and you love how it makes you laugh.

When you're practising the choreography you pull her arm around you, and her muscles go rigid, her back ramrod straight. You've never really had many friends to be affectionate with and it feels warm and comforting, her skin on yours. But she tenses every time and you don't know why. She hugs Santana so fiercely, but her eyes are unfocused and Quinn seems so often to be in a different reality. You wish, not for the first time, that you could explore the libraries of her mind, the crevices of her imagination.

You think Quinn was formed as an enigma, to be pondered over; your mind orbits around her, scrabbles for sense you fear will not be found.

She's so clever. She must think this plan as ridiculous as you do, and she comes to you anyway, looking to be saved, as though she's gifting you a way to help her. (You don't know how much of this is subconscious).

"I wanted to thank you, actually" – her eyes bright with fierce honesty, she's the most earnest person you know. But she's playful and mysterious too; "kind of" has you biting your lip and you wonder at how she can emit love so wistfully, wonder at how she makes you feel so special. (Wonder if she does this with everybody, and if they wonder the same thing.)

Finn asks you to marry him, and the first thing you do is ask for help, and you realise, in retrospect, that this was answering your own question. Quinn is the first person you look for, and this is the first time you think of her as your best friend, and it makes you giddy in the most childish way.

"You can't" is calm, tinged with incredulity, she's pleading with logic and reasoning. You would never have believed Quinn would have to beg anything of you.

In the choir room, you're pulled apart by the quiet, raw desperation of her. You can almost sense that somehow, after everything, this could be the thing that breaks her, and you just don't understand it at all.

Saying yes was just so easy. Things with Finn always were, in the most simple, naive way. Easy in your cerebrum, but uncomfortable in your heart, uncertainty etched into your ventricles. Like falling into an addiction that slowly destroys you (in the least poetic way, because nothing about this is poetic, your schoolgirl fantasy of life).

In the bridal shop, her words are insistent, and they taste like anger and half-truths. She looks so frustrated, and you are too. You think of how everything is constrained by language, how words limit expression because there are things which can't be defined by any combination of twenty six letters.

Fifteen minutes later, you're outside because you just couldn't _breathe_ in that dress anymore. But you see Quinn in her car and she's sobbing and shaking and the strange sense of wonder that _you_ matter to her that much is barely discernible amongst the guilt.

She asks you "When you were singing that song, you were singing it to Finn, and only Finn …right?"

The first thing you think is: she hopes I was singing it about her.

The second thing you think is: she loves me.

The third thing you think is that Quinn makes sense in a way she never has before.

It's so simple, it's so indirect and so _Quinn_, and understated was always the way this moment was going to be. Your sepia flashbacks are so _Rachel_ but flow together wonderfully with the simplicity of the moment. You think of drawings on bathroom walls and scribbled hearts and held back tears and breaking in two. It's so hard to comprehend, but you remember that things are true whether you believe them or not and _she loves you_. Then you're smiling and she's smiling and you're not really sure what's happening. But when she's in your arms she feels smaller than you expect, and suddenly it's a little girl you see, and a perfect family, and expectation and secrets and your fingertips are pressing into her as though if you hold her tight enough you could absorb her through your skin and it might be enough for both of you.

It's only once you're alone that you realise your best friend just told you she loves you (in the only way she could) and you didn't say anything. But what should you have said? What words are enough? Enough to what, you don't even know. You're still stuck on the fact that of all the beautiful human beings in the world, Quinn Fabray loves you. You've never felt so special.

But you're getting married. You have white shoes on your feet and a white veil on your head and this is you choking on time and you don't know what to do.

"Quinn? Where are y-"  
"Ma'am? I'm a paramedic with the emergency-"

You're at the hospital in 24 minutes and you stay there, in your wedding dress, for 57 hours.

She looks so damaged. So lifeless, and the tiny movements of her chest, up and down, are all you can focus on because it means that for now, it's okay. You think of how atoms of even the strongest things are 99% nothing, collapsible and delicate. Fingers messily intertwine with unmoving fingers; her skin is so cold it betrays the blood you scarcely believe is still moving. You're restless, your hands unconsciously moving, and when you eventually fall asleep (after 29 hours) it's to the slow, reassuring pulse of her wrist against your fingertips.

At 2am, two days after it happened, your fathers make you come home with them. You almost refuse, and you can't believe less than two years ago Quinn was in this same building and you weren't even there. Your own bed is no comfort because guilt and terror and she-loves-me-and-she's-lying-in-a-hospital-bed steal your sleep here as well.

You give the ring back to Finn in silence. When he starts asking questions, you walk away because Quinn might never walk again and you just can't do this now.

She comes back to school in her wheelchair and her courage is resounding and louder than she has ever been. You're so glad to see her again.

But then you see her new phone and you remember 'on my way' and that _she loves you_ and suddenly guilt is a raw, visceral pain tearing up your organs and choking out tears and "I'm so sorry". Bending down to hug her feels all wrong, but she's so calm and forgiving and her arms around you make you feel safe.

Quinn spends a lot of time with Joe, but you're more aware than ever of the way she looks at you, like you can feel her adoration through your skin. It's wonderful and confusing because the two of them together makes you bitter in a way that overwhelms you.

If anyone deserved to dance at their senior prom, it's Quinn. "Do you not understand what you mean to me?" is the most honest thing you can say because you're not sure you've ever really understood what she's meant to you, and you still don't now.

You're named prom queen, and you know that this is Quinn's crown you're wearing. And you think that really this is why, when she's in front of you, you're left stumbling over compliments and questions; because you gave her a flower and she gave you a crown. Because this has never been even. Because she's in love with you and maybes just can't compare.

But wishes can come true in the strangest of ways. Because you're dancing with your boyfriend at prom, and you're so stupidly happy, and all you can see is her smile when that crown was placed on your head.

Of course you're in a bathroom, it's just the way the scene's played out so many times, with you and her. She hands you a metro ticket and says without words that you can't run away from this. She looks at you so seriously, so fiercely and tenderly and holds you so carefully and you wonder how she ever thought you could run away from her.

You find yourself spending as much time as you can with her that summer after graduation. Several times you find her gazing at you (sad in the most frightening way), studying as though committing something to memory. Reassurances and promises find their way onto your tongue but are never voiced because you know this is the one thing you have to be completely sure of. Because she has all the reverence of a soul as old as she is beautiful and this is all so new for you. Because her melancholy pervades every inch of her like cracks through glass and you will not break her again.

You promise yourself this over and over.

In the early hours of a Friday morning (the last time Quinn will be lying on this bedroom floor for months), you can't wait anymore. She's the one thing you're most proud of, she's the most beautiful girl you've ever met, she loves you, and you can't wait anymore.

(You are not in love with her). But you can feel her on you like faded scars that can only be seen in the right light. Like changes inside are leaking onto your skin. Like love grows the way people do, new cells to replace the old, a day at a time, all to keep you breathing.

Quinn is so alive, her eyes and her breath so close to you. And at 3.17am you kiss her for the first time. (It's not I'm in love with you. It's: just wait. Please.)


End file.
